


The Outer Walls

by Poztupim



Series: Forgotten Tales Of The Heartland [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Daedra Worship, Gen, Last Stand, Merethic Era, OC, Slavery, War, ayleids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poztupim/pseuds/Poztupim
Summary: In a time long forgotten, when Ayleid city states waged countless wars against each other, the Kingdom of Anutwyll is beset by two rival armies. When all seems lost, a pact is made and fullfilled. Will the city triumph or shall only ruins tell the tale of Him-Who-Does-Not-Yield?
Series: Forgotten Tales Of The Heartland [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596199
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Outer Walls

„In the end we weren‘t prepared.“

When the sun rose above the bloodied fields of Anutwyll, most of the defenders had fallen. First Phalanx shattered at dusk, the Wendyandawik spearhead drove through their lines without even stopping. Second Phalanx held the western hills until midnight and would have succeded in stemming the tide but reinforcements from the north crashed into their flank and drove the staunch defenders into a rout. Most did not see the white walls of their home city again. Third Phalanx found itself in a pincer attack but managed to retreat almost intact, save for the commoner archers in front of them, who sacrificed their lives so that the noble warriors could retreat in formation. When the darkest hour of the night had passed Third and Fourth Phalanx held the field in front of Anutwyll‘s marble gates, refreshed by the star light that reflected in the nearby well. Sadly the same light from the same well would also empower their enemies, who were Mer like them, so after a brief rest and a bit of respite, during which the screams of the commoners in the woods could be heard, probably being slaughtered in the name of the Glimmer Witch by their devious foes, the mages channeled their powers into the stonework and made the star well collapse.

When dawn came, there were no Third and Fourth Phalanx anymore. Just a few strugglers and small bands of independent hoplites, putting up a resistance already doomed to fail or trying to leave the field of battle on their own. Varlaisille watched the scene before her, calm and detached, as her fellow citizens laid dying in the once green grass of southern Cyrod. She was not angry, for then she would have acknowledged their enemies martial skill. She was not saddened, for in Anutwyll sadness was deemed unsightly. She had no fear, for it would disrupt her focus. A hoplite should never lose focus in war. She belonged to the Queensguard of Anutwyll, herself a veteran of countless skirmishes, slave-hunts and outright wars. She needed to stay focused on holding back the enemy from Her Grace, who was working a great ritual to turn the tides even after their brutal loss. Despite all those fallen warriors, there were still elders and children as well as slaves in the city. Her Grace said that at least the first two should be saved from these barbaric invaders. While a special detachment of Royal Guards should lead them to safety, a martyr regiment was sent to soothe the slaves so that they would wait peacefully for the promised reinforcements, since they were told the allies from Valenwood had beaten most of the enemies forces back. Meanwhile Her Grace conversed with Him, Our Savior, our One True Lord.

Her Grace spoke through the smokey mirror of condensed magicka to the Grand Lord of Elvenkind, the Sworn Protector of Anutwyll, He-Who-Does-Not-Yield, The Greatest of Them All. She promised Him the souls of all Anutwyll still holds within her walls if he destroys the Wendyandawik and Sard armies who beset them. He smiled at her and granted her the request. 

They felt a tremor deep below, not only in the ground but also in their souls. Then they saw the lines collapse: Where a second ago hoplites and archers stood, suddenly empty helmets and harnesses crashed to the ground. Swords, shields and spears fell, as well as drawn bows and nocked arrows. The invaders were gone. It was quiet. Varlaisilles breathing slowed down. They were safe. He had saved them from peril and delivered them to a new day. The skies were blue and the sun shone on the fields of Anutwyll. Her Grace seemed at ease. Her spell had worked. Varlasille blinked …

The land was grey. The grass had disappeared, giving way to cold grey rock. The marble walls of Anutwyll were in ruins, broken and shattered by a tremendous force. The stones were slimy with grease, blood and gross excrements. The skies were burning as if torched by a gargantuan flame. A stench of rot and decay spread with a cold skin-piercing wind. Varlaisille looked down at herself. Her armor was gone. She was dressed in incredibly dirty rags. She turned around: Everyone was dressed like her. Even Her Grace. The queen had paled and was frantically shouting at the mirror about a cheat and a broken pact. Then He appeared. In all his glory The Grand One was gargantuan, terrifying, a being worthy and demanding of every kind of worship that is and that is not. His form stretched across the horizon, awe-inducing, gigantic, a living nightmare. He pointed at Varlaisille, no, at a point in front of her. A white line parted the grey rock. The outer walls of Anutwyll. They were broken down when the city was once besieged and conquered by Her Graces ancestors and never rebuilt for the declining populace needed no such extensive fortifications. The pact was fullfilled. He gained the souls of all Anutwyll still holds in her walls. They were the price He had just won. They belonged to Him in life as faithful, now they would be His as slaves. Her Grace wept in terror as she was approached by a pack of ugly daedra with wicked grins on their faces. The eternal torment was about to begin.


End file.
